


IPL 1984?

by Angels_in_Fishnets



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: And I'm not even sorry, I don't know how Whatsapp works and it is probably obvious, I stole the best line from Neil Gaiman's Norse Gods, IPL18, M/M, Serial Monogamy, Special guests: that half of the Black Caps who live in their own little village, Trentcam, for a very specific definition of monogamy, unhappy boys make dumb decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 01:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angels_in_Fishnets/pseuds/Angels_in_Fishnets
Summary: #Trentcam is starting to wear a bit thin for its main subject. Trent is sure someone thinks they're being hilarious, and he hopes Glenn might be able to tell him who.





	IPL 1984?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiminyneesham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiminyneesham/gifts).



It had been a good ten years since Trent Boult had last watched _The Truman Show_ , but he thought he knew exactly how Jim Carrey must have felt. A quick flick through his Instagram app revealed his teammates were posting videos of him on the bus, having lunch, playing golf, and hanging out in the hotel lobby.

Sometimes he had become aware of the cameraman - Jason Roy was not exactly subtle - and offered a sunny smile. Trent knew the best way to ensure #trentcam became a long-running affair was to indicate he was irritated by it.

It was harder to maintain that sunny disposition when Liam Plunkett and Glenn Maxwell were a lot more stealthy, and their stories showed videos that he hadn’t known were being filmed. Not to mention, Trent was certain he'd caught more photos being snapped than had appeared publically. Part of him was grateful for that, but another, bigger part was worried about what those shots could be used for in the future. This might have seemed like paranoia to a casual observer, but Trent knew those observers didn't regularly have to deal with Timothy Goddamn Southee.

In fact, this whole affair felt very familiar.

So after Trent caught Glenn filming him during his afternoon nap, he did a few things. First he tackled Maxi, took his phone after a brief scuffle, and deleted the video. Then he banished the Australian from his room. Then he got on Whatsapp.

Trent and his teammates had created a group for the seven players who all lived within a 20 minute walk of each other in Mount Maunganui. The name of the group changed regularly, so it took Trent a moment to remember it was currently listed as “Waggy’s Neighbourhood Watch” in honour of its newest member - who was one of only two guys actually in New Zealand.

**Trent(y)** : Southee, are you behind this fucking “Trentcam" thing? I just had Maxwell filming me while I slept.  
**Timbo:** Why do you always suspect me?  
**Trent(y):** Because when something like this happens, the first thing I always think is ‘it is Tim’s fault’. It saves a lot of time.  
**Yeeezh:** I do that too, fully a time saver.  
**Timbo:** Guys, that is extremely hurtful.  
**Trent(y):** Cozza, what’s Tim doing right at this very second?  
**MishterAndershon:** Giggling like a schoolgirl.  
**Timbo:** That doesn't mean I did it. It's just funny, okay?  
**Timbo:** Also, fuck you Cozza.

Trent pinched the bridge of his nose. A small noise made him look up, and he discovered Maxwell had crept back into the room. Fortunately, this time Glenn's phone was nowhere to be seen.

Glenn flopped down on the end of the bed and laid his head on Trent's shin. Trent didn't know Glenn that well, but within days of his arrival at Delhi Daredevils, everyone was very aware of how huggy he was. Unless you rebuffed him, and rebuffed him repeatedly, Glenn was going to get in your personal space.

“You know, for a skinny bloke you've got a good tackle on you,” Glenn said conversationally, then chuckled after a moment.

“ _Two_ good tackles on you.”

“And what, you were looking for the other one?”

Trent could see the setup coming from a mile away, and decided to cut to the chase. Glenn, for his part, didn’t seem surprised.

“Better me than Pudsey. Or Roy.”

Trent couldn't precisely see how that logic worked. He was fairly sure he was being propositioned, though given Maxwell was speaking indistinctly from somewhere south of Trent’s kneecap, he wasn’t entirely certain.

Then there was the fact that the proposition seemed to hinge on the idea that Trent was certain to wind up sleeping with _someone_ , so that someone might as well be Glenn Maxwell. Since he didn’t quite know what to think of that, silence seemed like the safest option.

Glenn looked up. “Keen?”

“Confused.”

“Oh. About what?”

“Why you think I want to have sex with you. Why you want to have sex with me. Why you decided to let me know of that desire by fucking _filming me while I was sleeping_ , like an even creepier version of that sparkly stalker from Twilight.”

“You’re saying it like that, but I will put cash money on you having seen every single one of those movies. Don’t try to deny it.”

Trent ignored that this did not answer any of his questions, and dredged up some gossip he remembered hearing.

“Aren’t you and Aaron Finch together? Like, together together?”

“You didn’t try to deny it!”

Trent felt a surge of irritation that reminded him of home and snapped, “Oh my fucking God. Get off my leg.”

Glenn looked at him with a smirk, and Trent stared back. After a second of silence, Trent saw the smirk fall from the Australian’s face.

“Yeah, I’m with Finchy. Or I was. I dunno anymore. Doesn't really matter, does it? I mean, I’m asking you for a root, I’m not asking you to be my life partner.”

Trent sighed. “I don’t sleep around.”

Glenn merely shrugged, as though Trent’s fundamental values were a mild inconvenience.

“Well we’ve got what, three weeks of IPL left? We can be monogamous till then.”

Trent was actually kind of impressed by this particular line of lateral reasoning. It wasn't going to make him reconsider, but he mentally gave Maxi a point for trying.

“C'mon,” wheedled Glenn, “At least think about it.”

“I have thought about it,” said Trent. Glenn raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“I thought about it for thirty seconds just now, and no.”

“Trento, mate, come on! You're killing me here!”

Glenn theatrically dropped his head back onto Trents shin, so heavily Trent jumped and swore, and Glenn rolled over, clutching his temple.

“Oww,” he whined, “Motherfuck that hurt.”

“You deserved that.”

“Yeah, I did. Sorry.”

Trent rubbed his shin and watched as Glenn got up, tentatively feeling his head for a lump.

“Look,” Trent said, “I don’t know who set this up, or what the real idea is, but forget it.”

Glenn examined him, head cocked, for a long moment. Then he shrugged and started wandering towards the door.

“Yeah, well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

* * *

‘Trentcam’ seemed to taper off after that, and Trent thought that was the end of it all. Maxi remained as tactile as ever, which confirmed in Trent’s mind that it had all been a wind up. Surely if he was actually interested he would have taken the knock-back slightly harder.

Two nights later Trent was awoken by his phone buzzing insistently under his pillow. He panicked a little, sure it had to be someone from home calling him about an emergency. A quick check of the screen and he let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. No one from home.  
Nor was it one of his Black Caps teammates who were in this part of the world, whom he would have most likely told to fuck off.

It was Glenn.

“Maxwell?” Trent wondered if he’d been sleep-dialed.

“Heya Trent, I’m outside your room. Can I come in?”

Then Trent was going to tell him to fuck off, but he thought there was something off about Glenn’s manner, a thickness to his speech, as though was trying too hard to be casual.

Curiosity provoked Trent into getting up and letting the Australian into his room. He then stared in mute confusion and mild horror as Glenn got straight into his bed.

“Maxi, are you drunk? That’s my bed!”

“I’m aware of that. Your air-con is fucking arctic, do you want me to die of hypothermia?”

“So long as you don’t do it in my bed,” said Trent, even as he pulled back the covers and got under them.  
For Trent the moment had that surreal quality which came from being jerked awake in the early hours, and he felt like he might still be dreaming. Glenn Maxwell in his bed wouldn’t be the most unusual dream he’d had recently.

“What are you doing here Glenn?”

“Wondering if you’d thought about it. You know, properly.”

Trent had given Glenn’s proposition a couple of unintentional thoughts. He'd only noticed them when he had to quickly change position and redirect his his attention to definite Other Thoughts.

Trent realised he must have nodded his head slightly, because Glenn touched him then; reaching out to stroke a hand over his stomach and down.

“Oi!” Trent frantically grabbed at Glenn’s wrist, “No! What the fuck are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking, Trent, that after I gave my fucking boyfriend a blowjob on his wedding day he told me he wanted to be true to his wife. That's what I'm thinking. That’s what I’ve been thinking about every day since I got here. And I would like to not think about that for a little while. So could you just do me a solid and give me an orgasm? I’ll even return the favour.”

Trent gaped. He didn’t know what he had been expecting Glenn was going to tell him, but it certainly wasn’t that. He closed his mouth, opened it again, and only then registered what Glenn had actually asked.

“Wow,” he said incredulously, “Flattering.”

“Mate, I’ve been flirting with you for weeks. I am moving beyond flattery to brutal honesty. I want to touch your dick, and I want you to touch mine.”

“You flirt with everyone.”

“No, I don’t, everyone just flirts with you. You don’t get what it’s like for other people – I bet you’ve never been turned down in your life.”

Trent didn’t bother arguing the point. The look in Glenn’s eyes was both magnetic and slightly frightening. He reminded Trent of a wounded animal.

Trent thought about what it would have been like, to love someone that way – the way Glenn obviously loved Finch – and have him reject you. And then have to pretend you’re happy for him. He loosened his grip on Glenn’s wrist.

Glenn recognised the invitation, pressing Trent onto his back and moving over him.

“Wait,” said Trent quickly, “You swear this isn’t a setup? You’re not recording or some shit?”

“Yeah mate, you can be sure I’m not recording me asking you for a pity fuck.”

“Then what was the whole Trentcam thing about?”

Glenn sighed. “Roy bet Puds he couldn't get video of your gay little golf swing. His words. Pudsey wanted some plausible deniability, so we all got in on it.

“It was just funny, okay? I promise it’s over.”

He punctuated this by pulling off his t-shirt and dropping it over the side of the bed. Glenn then pressed his lips to Trent’s nipple, tonguing it firmly. Trent could feel himself start to get hard in his shorts.

“Though I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know,” Glenn spoke against the other man’s skin while he moved slowly downwards, lips tickling Trent’s stomach, “Most of the best footage we got never made it to Instagram. That went straight to the bank.”

“Maxwell, stop talking.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be putting my mouth to much better use in a moment.”

 


End file.
